This is a post that I started to write four days ago... I am not sure what interrupted me, probably a little boy and/or little girl, finding something more fun to paint with...
So last night [Monday Sept. 15] when Jon went out to get us a little frozen treat, I was resting on the couch watching PBS. Around twenty minutes after he left, the kids, who had been playing 'quietly' in their room, as they do every night, started to make a racket that I was unaware two and half year old children could make. So I decided it was time to take a little walk up there and see what was up. As I climbed the stairs, I realized that the sound was one I had heard once before...
My thoughts immediately began to dwell on the fact that we never repainted that room, and its eggshell finish and fine texture would present some major challenges. The sound was one we heard just a few weekends ago when the kids got into the crayons and decided to make their mark on the library wall. While I was worried about how to get the crayon off the wall, I actually opened the door to their room totally ready to simply remove their weapons of choice and lay the "nigh-night time smack down" routine.
However, the scene on the other side of the door, is still [four days later] indescribable. I slipped my hand over my gaping mouth to prevent 'middle school toys and up' words from slipping out. (yes that is yet another Toy Story reference.. love that movie) Anyway, my angel children were each standing on Livi's bed; buck naked from their waist down. The boy child's hands covered in, you guessed it, POOP, also carried a wooden block, also covered in POOP! The girl child was weapon-less, unless you count her hands, caked in POOP. My male child, or should I say at this point, JON'S male child, had, yes POOP, matted in his hair, covering his face like a mud mask, and up both of his arms. The masterpiece on my walls, created with such a clever medium, was the stinkiest piece of **** ever! I might add, it was solid and dry... remember that fine textured wall I wasn't sure if I could get crayon off of? Little chunks of said medium littered the whole room, beds, blankets, carpet... some of course, stepped on and smashed in, well.
I am thankful that only Livi and Taylor were there to witness the shock and disbelieve on my mug, and that they likely will not remember it. At the time, I would have given them to the lowest bidder, I might even have found a large card board box and a marker, "Free to the first Sucker". Four days later though, I can find some humor in the situation. After catching my breath, I muttered three words, "OH ... MY ... GOD!!!!" The fact that Livi instantly covered her mouth, as I had been doing, with her feces covered hand and gasped, "Oh my God"... is actually something I can laugh at now. And the conditioner incident a few days before... yeah, so minor now...
Remember how co-operative they were when they got in trouble for that? Well you should have seen them this night. I said "arms up" and they where up almost before the words came out. I said "BATHHHHHH" and they raced to the tub. They didn't ask for the toys that I had quickly removed from the tub or the markers they usually get to play with. This, they knew, was a special bath. They didn't even cry when I ran the water while they were in the tub... nor when I told them that they could not drink or dump the water over each other's heads... (yes Taylor has a thing about drinking bath and pool water. He is a very special child. We do not encourage this behavior, however we do tend to pick our battles, and well, this is rarely one we spend a great deal of time arguing over)Five wash cloths, six shampoos, two conditionings, and twenty five minutes later, I had two children no longer covered in crap, literally.
In the meantime, Jon came home to find the trail lit. I can't imagine what was going through his mind as he climbed the stairs, but if he was shocked, I couldn't tell. He never gets to be the one to discover these things... hmm... I have theories about why that is. Another post...
So he stripped the beds, gathered the many blankets (my kids are obsessive now about their blankets. Sleep cannot happen with less than three each)and took them all to the washer. We thought we would put the kids in the other room while we cleaned up the mess. This turned out to be a BIG mistake.
Within five minutes, they found and emptied half a tube of diaper rash cream, which had then become their new medium for decorating the other bedroom.
Now on our third pair of PJs for the evening, and our last fiber of patience, we put them on the bed with strict orders not to move a finger. This of course only humored them. They enjoyed watching us scrub the walls free of their hard work. Livi echoed our comments as Taylor slipped off the bed, trying to save his masterpiece.
Two hours after Jon returned from his little trip, my ice cream was totally melted on the table, and his was frozen solid in the freezer. We were both tired, exhausted, and stinky (I could use some other choice adjectives here, but I do try to use only preschool aged language for the 'toys' that might be reading...)
I like to think that these experiences are all on the 'learning curve' and that things will progress steadily to tidy, polite, young people, but these children have several counts against them. 1: repeat offenses 2: mocking and laughter in the face of discipline 3: the fact that when Daddy asks Livi "Where does your poopy go?" Livi now responds "On the wall!"
WE ARE ALL DOOMED, RUN!
